Man is born to live, not to prepare for life.

He was a natural, and in the Russian way, tragically above these banalities.

But what are pity, conscience, or fear To the brazen pair, compared With the living sorcery Of their hot embraces?

I have the impression that if he didn't complicate his life so needlessly, he would die of boredom.

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.

All mothers are mothers of great people, and it is not their fault that life later disappoints them.

He is her glory. Any woman could say it. For every one of them, God is in her child. Mothers of great men must have been familiar with this feeling, but then, all women are mothers of great men -- it isn't their fault if life disappoints them later.